


Copycats

by r_lee



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was their first heist, but it was destined not to be their last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copycats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anythingbutblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutblue/gifts).



> Many thanks to Ana for beta-reading!

## **1921**

  
"Hey, get your hands off that apple. It's _mine._"

"Get _your_ hands off that apple, it's mine!" She mimics the way he walks, the expression on his face, the tone of his voice, even the flash of his goofy teenage-boy eyes. Of course, living on the streets gives a person a lot of time to develop her skills, and Miria Harvent's no slouch. She's been following him for _weeks._ His name's Isaac and he's old -- fifteen -- and he's just about to find out he's the only reason she hasn't starved her little self on some brownstone stoop. Watching him has taught her a whole lot about stealing food.

"Shut up, kid!"

"You shut up, kid!" When his arms flail menacingly, reaching to grab the apple, hers do the same.

"Cut it **out!**"

"Yeah, cut it **out!**" Like only a hungry eleven-year-old girl can, she gobbles up that apple faster than he can catch her and runs off, laughing all the way.

"Dumb _girl,_" he yells after her ("Dumb girl!" echoes back), but his mind is almost working a million miles an hour, even if his thoughts don't quite make the kind of sense they should for someone in his situation, someone living on the mean streets of the Big Apple. From a window up above he hears the sound of two people arguing and automatically ducks down on the side of the stoop, head covered. Sure enough, the sound of glass crashing follows. Just another lazy afternoon in New York City.

* * *

 

It's sometime in the middle of the night that Isaac becomes aware of the sound of sniffling, like someone's crying nearby. Cautiously, because he's not stupid enough to make a lot of loud sudden noises in a back alley in the dark, he makes his way out from behind the garbage cans toward the sound. There it is, way down at the end of the alley tucked back against the fence. It's that dumb _girl_ again, a stream of tears from each eye mingling with the dirt on her face .

"Oh, it's you."

"It's _you._" One dirty fist dabs at each eye.

"Are you following me?" Arms folded across his chest, as menacing as he can be (which he knows isn't much, mostly because he's a _skinny_ fifteen and always taken for younger), he glowers at the girl. It doesn't take a genius to figure out she _is_ following him. "What's your name, anyhow?"

"What's _your_ name?" Defiant, she lets out a deep breath and her voice is shaky but she stands her ground.

"How come you're always copying me?"

"Always copying _you?_ You're always copying _me._" Once she wipes her nose with the back of her hand and rubs that off on her ragged and filthy skirt, she extends that hand tentatively. "I'm Miria."

He's not going to shake _that_ hand. That's disgusting. But he does nod. "And I'm Isaac. What are you doing out here?"

"What are _you_ doing out here?"

There she goes again. It's maddening, but he likes it. Conversations are easier when he only has to answer his own questions instead of thinking about all of hers. "Catching a little shut-eye while I plan to take over the world." Maybe he's listened in on a few too many conversations, but really, he's fond of the idea of world domination. It would make everything so much easier, not that he has what it takes to run the world. No, he only has what it takes to borrow it. "But you can take that with a grain of salt."

"I like salt! Salt is good! Except when you rub it into cuts, then it's no good at all!" Miria jumps around too excitedly for an eleven-year-old on her own in a back alley in the middle of a summer night, but having fun is more important than eating or finding a place to sleep! Having company is better than having a street all to herself! It's even better than being chased off by the coppers!

It's then that the idea pops into his head, and he's not sure why but he likes it. He likes it a lot, and for a while now he's been looking for a good outlet for his wisdom and ingenuity. "I know a place where we can get one, Miria."

"Get one?" It takes her a minute. First of all she has to stop dancing around, and second of all, she has to remember what they were talking about. "Get what? A grain of salt?"

"Exactly! Come with me." Determined, he grabs her grimy little hand and pulls her along. The street's lamps are lit; they dodge between buildings, hiding in the deep long shadows as they sneak from place to place. Finally...

"Aha, here it is!" Isaac's voice is almost a whisper, but he can't _quite_ be as quiet as most of the other people. It's why, he figures, he hasn't been tapped to run money for one of the families, or to do much of anything else. But it's okay. Finally, he has a partner in crime! They can be their own dastardly duo... if she's any good, that is. Let this be the test. The sign on the door reads _Mrs. O'Riordan's Pies_ and he knows it well. Isaac looks left; he looks right; he looks up into the sky; he looks down at the street. A person can never be too cautious! Back flattened against the building's wall, he tiptoes to Mrs. O'Riordan's back door and jimmies it open. The light from outside bleeds in through the windows, illuminating the spice counter.

"Shhh." Finger pressed to his lips, he nods Miria in. Pepper: no. Cinnamon? No. Baking powder? No. Vanilla? That doesn't even _have_ grains. But finally.... AHA! SALT.

Nimbly, like he's done it a thousand times before, he opens the container and pulls out one grain. "Hold open your palm." With the precision of a scientist in a laboratory, he drops the single grain into Miria's hand. "Don't lose it, now!"

"Won't lose it, now!" The smile on her face is as broad as the Hudson River and as bright as the carriage lights on the Grand Concourse. "A grain of salt! We got it!"

"Shh!" Carefully, he closes the container, helps himself to the last cookie sitting in the tin Mrs. O'Riordan says she keeps just for him, and tiptoes back out, Miria at his side. Once they're back on the streets he sets a leisurely pace, casual as anything, whistling cheerfully, his arm linked with Miria's. They keep it up all the way back to their alley where...

"We did it, Miria!"

"We did it, Isaac! We took something and we took it together!" So excited, she jumps up into the air, pumping her fist in excitement. "We did it, we did it!" Fit to burst, she throws her arms around him in a giant hug. Tiny hand still closed tightly around the salt, she practically cries with happiness.

_Girls._ He wriggles away from her embrace but can't help the goofy grin on his face. The cookie comes out of his pocket; he breaks it into two pieces and hands one to her. "Supper, partner. And remember, we took it with a grain of salt."

Neither of them can deny how much fun the whole caper was. Not that night, not the next day, and not for many days... weeks... months... no, _years_. It might be entirely possible their love of taking things together could last forever.  



End file.
